All around us we are surrounded by relationships. Our proximity to friends and family, to our activities, to our bodies, even to our minds. Yes, I sometimes think that my relationship with my own brain and body changes with the tide.
Do we always know what is waxing and what is waning? Or must we wait until the time has passed to reflect and analyze? Perhaps I’m just in a reflective mood today.
My multiple sclerosis is of the waxing-waning type. Depending upon which points in time I choose to delineate, I seem better off or worse than another.
Two weeks ago I was demonstrating an MS relapse to the neuro.
Four weeks ago I was treating a suspected UTI.
Six weeks ago it seemed that my RA was flaring up a bit.
Eight weeks ago I noted looking through an increased veil of floaters.
Ten weeks ago I felt great!!
Today, I am mush. Physically, mentally, spiritually. Steroids and MS will do that to you.
At least the raging stage has passed somewhat and I might be sidestepping the weeping stage. Hard to tell just yet. But cry is something which my soul wants to do.
Is it crying for any particular reason or is it crying for a loss? Or maybe for a potential loss in the future.
Right now I am safe. I am loved. I am taken care of. I’m good.
I can walk, talk, eat, dress, think (mostly, lol), see, hear, bath, etc. So what’s the problem?
I am weak. I am wobbly. I am scared of becoming worse in the future. I am afraid of disappointment, in myself and of disappointing others.
Last week during the IV steroids, Rob would ask how I was doing. The day that I said I was walking a bit better, he responded, “I didn’t know that you were having problems.”
Yes, I don’t always want to say - today my legs are crap and my balance is worse. I just try my best to move smoothly and use the correct muscles. Right now my hip flexors are weak and not yet with the program.
Then there’s the numbness. Physically numb and emotionally numb (primarily from the steroids).
The surface of my skin on almost my entire body is still numb. It’s kinda funny with the safety pin test. Poke, poke, poke. Wait, wait, wait. Until a spot feels almost sharpish. It becomes a game. “Let’s find where Lisa will actually think about saying OUCH.”
But one thing which doesn’t OUCH is that Rob knows just how much to be there. He is supportive and patient. On the days I was trying really hard to contain the vile words and emotions, he backed off with the soft voice.
He wanted so badly for me to announce that things were better and better. I just wanted for nobody to talk to me or ask any questions at all. Together we made it through.
Intimacy. Give and take. Wax and wane. Flow with the tide. That’s life.
Two weeks from now, I’m sure that I’ll be feeling much better. It is inevitable.
No matter what happens in the future. It’s ok. Life is a learning experience.
Sweetie, thank you for being here for me. And Happy Belated Birthday!!!
(yes, we can blame the steroid-mush-brain on forgetting the BIG 40.)